The Panty Challenge
by Lechuza Tempestade
Summary: My contribution to the KFFDisc Panty Challenge.


***The characters used in this work are the copyrighted property of their original creator. I do not seek profit from my writing. I would prefer that you did not copy my work, but I can't stop you.***

Angle brackets denote italics, which denote narration, thoughts, or emphasis according to context. 

Having been issued a challenge by Flori on the KFFDisc mailing list, I finally find an excuse to write yet another story. I know a lot about panties. Why don't I ever get to have dreams about Aoshi-sama? Please e-mail your C&C to [lechuza@herzeleid.net][1] . 

----------------------- 

[KFFDISC][ADULT ROMANCE] The Panty Challenge

"American woman…get away from me…" -Jefferson Airplane 

Late-spring nights in Kyoto. Surely there is nothing sweeter, nothing more richly scented; plum and cherry blossoms dripping from the trees like maiden's tears and falling into the central river, only to float away and be gathered up by the moonlight-clad nymphs that only small children could see. 

A good time to drink, too. 

No one ever saw Shinomori Aoshi leave the Aoiya that night; not even Misao, his perpetual shadow. Perhaps the sakura fragrance had lured her to sleep. Perhaps her thoughts of him had. Regardless, he slid through the blood-thick night without harassment. 

A smile changed the lines of his handsome face as he beheld the teahouse where the meeting was to be, brightly lit by softly colored lanterns. This was not the way it had been in the days of the War, when such important decisions had to be made squatting amid the filth of some sewer or thieves' den. No, now he could sit and sip his tea in comfort as he collaborated. Even if he was obligated to wear one of these horribly uncomfortable western suits. 

Not even the other members of the Oniwa Banshu knew everything Aoshi had been doing. They understood that he had refused a job with the new Meiji government to stay with his adopted ninja family, but that was all. They did not know about these well-lit midnight trysts in Kyoto's fine teahouses to help plan Japan's defense against the rest of the world, accompanied by the shamisen strumming of high-paid Gion geisha. 

The maid waiting inside the teahouse's front door heard Aoshi's footsteps on the cobbles outside. Standing, she slid the door open for him and accepted his boots. In his socks, Aoshi allowed another pretty young serving girl to lead him to the room where the meeting was to be held. 

It was a small, intimate meeting: Aoshi was one of a rapidly shrinking elite in Japan's new government. It was an oligarchy now, and it would be a monarchy before he was dead, but that didn't bother him. For warriors like him, the battlefield never really changed. 

The screen door slid open. Inside, several men and one woman were gathered around a low table. The geisha, instead of contributing to the conversation, seemed to be content to pour sake and provide music. Aoshi raised one eyebrow. Perhaps this was to be a more serious meeting. 

A woman? 

Yes, a woman. A distinctively non-Japanese woman, a distinctively Western woman. She sat perched next to a sandy-headed man, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Rather than kimono, she wore a dress made from what could have been yards of black satin, elaborately ruffled and bound at a tight bodice. This was trimmed in black lace and tiny onyx buttons, despite the fact that the whole top of the swell of her breasts peeked out. Her long hair, a shimmering red color that was only slightly duller than Kenshin's, was piled elegantly atop her head, revealing a pearl cameo choker around her neck. She was ignoring her sake and food, and waving around a lit cigarette in a teak holder. 

"But James, darling, surely you know how barbaric this kind of government is, compared to back home in America!" 

Aoshi's eyes narrowed. Although the words were in English, her tone of voice told him a great deal. She sounded rather disdainful. Then she turned and saw him standing in the doorway. 

Lena was barely able to keep her mouth from dropping open. Since she had gotten to Japan, most of the men she had met had been old and cranky, greasy and unappealing. This was refreshing. The handsome millionaire by her side seemed rather like a street urchin in the face of this beautiful piece of sushi. 

Inwardly, Aoshi rolled his eyes. The look on his face made her thoughts as transparent as window glass. He didn't understand where his disarming effect on women came from, even if he was handsome. Taking his eyes from the gawking Western girl, he nodded to the officials gathered. 

"Good evening, gentlemen." Gracefully, he folded himself onto his knees in front of the table. A geisha poured him a cup of something…something that wasn't sake. Quizzically, he looked at Minister Gaiken, who was sitting across the table from him. 

"Whiskey, my dear Shinomori, in honor of our American guest. He's here to give us pointers on democracy. Drink up."

Cringing inwardly but not wanting to be rude, Aoshi tipped the cup into his mouth. The stuff burned horribly! It was rather like being slammed into the ground by Kenshin on a bad day. Straining to hold back the tears he set his cup down, only to have it refilled. The American man was staring at him, looking amazed. 

"My, you're a tough bastard. I've never seen a rookie take his whiskey so well." Aoshi coughed and nodded. The women was looking at him speculatively. Then she spoke, in a coy voice: 

"Sure, honey, but I bet he can't do it again." 

"Hush, Lena. Don't antagonize." He looked at Aoshi contemplatively. "Although I'm sure you're right."

Minister Gaiken slapped Aoshi on the back, chuckling. "He's a tough man. He's seen and survived more difficult battles than anyone in Japan. A little whiskey isn't going to kill him." 

The mood these words caused made Aoshi feel obligated to prove it. So silently he downed another cup, only to have it refilled again. Before he knew it was happening, he had been induced to put down over half a bottle of whiskey. 

He didn't notice the gleam that entered the American woman's emerald eyes as she watched him get progressively more and more drunk. Her intentions should have been easy to discern, and he should have been much more wary. But politeness was everything here, and even he knew that being drunk made people more open and creative. 

And so, Aoshi became completely foxed. Utterly plastered. After going such a long period of time hardly ever touching sake, his resistance to the potent Western liquor was minimized. 

Caught up in the political discussion, the American man didn't notice his woman staring at the handsome ninja, either. When Aoshi got up to use the bathroom and his girlfriend decided she needed to powder her nose barely five minutes later, it escaped his attention. 

Zipping his fly back up, Aoshi sighed in relief. No amount of tea could make a man water the daisies like that. Emerging from the toilet area, he headed back down the hallway to the meeting room. 

Only to be stopped cold. 

The American woman, curse her seductive charms, was waiting for him in the doorway of one of the rooms set aside for the maids to sleep. The extravagant dress, complete with lumpy bustle, was discarded in a soft pile behind her.

Oh, the pain. She had kept her high-heeled black granny boots on. They were an erotic touch over sheer, silken black stockings, the backseam of which he caught a glimpse of as she turned to face him fully. A lacy black garter belt held the stockings up. However, she wasn't wearing any panties. Those she held in one hand as she eyed him like a fiery panther sizing up its gullible ninja meal. 

Most erotically, she was wearing one of the newfangled corset-like contraptions that had been making noise all over Europe since their recent invention: a brassiere. This one did not quite sufficiently cover her lush breasts; the creamy tops were still exposed, and her nipples were very prominent through the sheer lace fabric. She had left her choker and pearl bracelet on, and her red hair still piled atop her head. 

Aoshi desperately wanted to preserve his dignity, but he was far too drunk. "Madame," he slurred. Shaking his head, he tried again. 

"Madame, aren't you afraid of catching a chill?" 

That was clearly the wrong thing to say, because she launched herself into his arms, practically pinning him against the wall. Before he could so much as squeak in protest, she was wrapped around him like a snake around the Tree of Knowledge in the Garden of Eden. The Tree of Carnal Knowledge, as it were.

This was too much for even a stoic like Aoshi. He dropped her like a hot teacup. 

Frowning inwardly, Lena picked herself up from the floor, brushing off her bare and bruised bottom. What was wrong with this man? Surely no one that good-looking could be homosexual. But she let none of her displeasure show as she pressed up against him, purring.

This time, Aoshi was more firm. Grabbing her by her forearms, he set her a safe distance away from him. She sighed. 

"Fine then. You Japanese men always have to play hard to get." With a cheeky grin, she slipped the tiny scrap of lace that was her panties into the front of his shirt. "You'll come around." 

Shaking his head, Aoshi moved back down the hallway to the room where the meeting had pretty much devolved into a drinking game. He didn't make any real mental register of the panties in his shirt, although he could feel the slightly scratchy fabric against the skin of his chest quite clearly. No one even looked sideways as he came back in, resuming his place with less than his usual grace. 

Things burned out quickly from there. No more political discussion was to be had, and not even the American could stay awake after he was really drunk. And so, the geisha gave them all their shoes at the door and called hackney cabs to get them home. 

Aoshi elected to stumble through the darkness as best as he could, rather than risk Okina or Misao seeing him like this. By the time he got back to the Aoiya he was more than a little dizzy. It took all the stealth skills he had ever learned to make it up to his room and out of his clothes before hitting the futon with an audible thump.

The sunlight flooding in through the shutters of his window did not please Aoshi the next morning, he had a throbbing headache and a nasty smell to his breath. For a moment he was disoriented, but then he remembered: whiskey, and a brazen redhead. With a groan, he sat up, looking for his clothes.

They were gone. 

Shit.

It was Sunday. Misao's day to do laundry… 

Uh oh… 

Jumping to his feet, as naked as the plates after Kenshin's cooking, Aoshi searched frantically for the panties he knew the woman had stuffed in his shirt the night before. His room was quite empty; the tatami demurely clean, what few items there were stacked or arranged neatly. No panties. 

Looking even grimmer than usual, he grabbed a black yukata from its hook by his armoire and threw it on. 

The sunlight in the hallway outside his room was less harsh to his eyes; it came from the windows of one or two rooms in which the sliding screens had been left open. Trying not to think about his doom, Aoshi trudged down the stairs to breakfast. 

No Misao in the dining room. With a sigh of relief, he knelt, accepting a tray of miso soup, rice, and tea from Okon with a nod. He had gotten down several bites of the deliciously sticky rice before…

"AAAAOOOOSSSSHIIIII!!!" 

Craaaaap. 

He did not bother to turn around as Misao came into the room. This was just as well, because if he had the vase she flung at his head would have hit him in the face and not the back of his head. Rubbing the lump it created, he sighed.

"You…you…you…WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THESE?!"

The panties were dropped unceremoniously into Aoshi's soup. He did not bother to fish them out. Misao had burst into a long stream of dramatic tears, bemoaning his unfaithfulness. The lump on his head throbbed. It was probably bleeding, but it was probably what he deserved. 

(There's your answer! The panties were in Aoshi's miso.)

   [1]: mailto:lechuza@herzeleid.net



End file.
